Purple
by BtLeighVS
Summary: AU season five, during "The Gift" what if Buffy hadn't been fast enough to save Dawn?
1. Chapter 1

Title- Purple  
By: Leigh  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the BtVS characters, I'm just going to play with them for a little bit.  
A/N: This is an A/U fic, in the end of the fifth season during "The Gift" what if Buffy had been too slow to get up to the top of that tower and Dawn had jumped to save the world? Feedback welcome, enjoy.

~BtVS~

Her hand hasn't moved since I put mine over it. I guess it won't really. Ever, ever again. She's dead. Her flesh feels cool to my touch, cooler than Angel's ever felt. My thumb makes tiny circles over the back of her hand.

Really, I'm surprised they were able to make it an open casket. Surprised in a good and bad way. Because the last time I saw her she was an unrecognizable mass of flesh, piled up on top of herself, her limbs poking out in ways that should never have been to begin with. I bite my bottom lip. Why wasn't I faster?

My feet had barely covered the last step on the stupid, falling down tower. I was just in time to watch her jump. To kill herself. I know she did it to save the world. But that's my job, not hers. Hers was to go to school, to get crushes on guys and whine about how she never gets to do anything, not even save the world. It should have been me. Blinking back tears, I set my mouth in a grim line of determination.

She didn't even live six months. But it still feels like she was a part of me. I still remember every moment of every day with her, every time I told her to go away and every time she'd run crying to Mom. And now even Mom isn't around anymore. It's just me. Like a ship out on the water, all by myself. Alone.

I drop her hand and lean down to place a kiss on her cool forehead, whispering, "I'm sorry Dawnie, I'm so sorry." A tear seeps out and falls onto her face, but I don't brush it away. She should be buried with my tears. She is made from me after all.

I stumble back over to my chair and fall into it. Without thinking, both hands reach out, one on each side of me, and I grasp Willow and Xander hard. The original Scooby gang. Willow's got Tara, and Xander has Anya, then there's me. Alone.

Father James, some friend of Giles' he always got to bless the holy water, starts speaking and I look back to see all of my little sister's friends. The church is full. We've never attended mass here, none the less anything else, but the church is still packed. Full of our friends, Dad and his latest secretary, teachers, but mostly… mostly kids I don't think even knew Dawn. Kids from her school who never got the chance to know her.

"It's always unfair to see one so young taken from us, one with so much potential." He keeps going but I ignore him. So much potential. She could have had a normal life, one without demons and hell gods, without vampires and death. She could have grown up, gone to school and married, had two point five kids and lived to see them grow up and have kids of their own. She had so much more of a chance at a normal life than I ever did, but now she doesn't. It's all gone in the blink of an eye. A sob wretches out of me and I do my best to swallow it, ignoring the looks others are shooting my way. They say they care, they say they're sad she's gone, but most of these kids never even knew her.

It makes everything feel… fake.

Kind of like, they shouldn't be here to begin with. Fake mourning will do nothing but remind me that my sister died for all of them and they don't even care. She died saving all of us and the only ones who realize the implications are sitting next to me. The priest wraps things up and asks if any of us would like to say anything. I want to, god how I want to. I want to tell them all that she's dead because of me, she's dead because she saved them all, that she never deserved to live so short a life. I want to yell at them all to go away and leave me with my grief, leave me to mourn her the way she deserves to be mourned.

But I don't. I bite back my tears and wish that someone would say something about her. On my right, I feel Willow release my hand and stand up. She walks on shaky looking legs up to the podium, next to this year's school picture of Dawnie. She stands before it for a moment, tracing the outline of her face, before finally turning toward everyone.

She clears her throat and begins speaking. I can see the tears in her eyes just waiting to spill over at any moment. "Dawnie wasn't just someone with the potential to lead an amazing life, she was someone who did. She looked bravely into the face of danger, and faced her fears every day." I keep reminding myself that no one here knows but us. Everyone thinks she committed suicide. Just another teen in a long string of teens who couldn't deal with living. Everyone is wrong. But she has to make it sound like a suicide speech. "Even though she is no longer with us, she will never be forgotten, we will never stop loving her, and thanking her for making our lives a brighter place even if for just a short time." Finally, she turns to face the casket, and I can hear the hitch in her voice falter. She must be crying. "You will be missed."

Eventually, students start filing out of the church. Then teachers. And finally Dad and his latest flavor of the month. I stand up, holding tight to Willow and Xander both as I head out of the church and towards the graveyard. I don't know who's in charge of moving her casket. I didn't make any of the arrangements for this entire thing, Giles did everything. I walk over to a hole in the ground. It's deep, probably six feet, and encased in concrete. All it's missing is her. I stare down at my feet. The ground is covered in faux grass, the kind that's used to make the earth look nicer, to, I guess, pad our feelings from ourselves. The pain of death may be too much coupled with anything being out of place. At least that's what I think they're reasoning is. But it's all too sterile.

It's too cut and clean, everything is just so in its place. Nothing is the way it should be. My sister is dead. The world should feel my pain, feel the echoing scream of emptiness radiating out of my chest. I don't want things to be orderly. She's the only part of my family-my blood family-that I had left. Well, aside from Dad, but he doesn't count. You have to be around occasionally to be considered family.

I fall to my knees in front of her soon to be grave, my hands ripping at the too cheery fake grass. I need dirt. Dirt and blood and life. She should be alive, dammit!

Tears splash on the backs of my hands, mixing with the dry earth, turning to tiny streaks of mud. Why? Why wasn't I faster? I drop my head into my hands, feeling the tiny pile of destroyed earth touch against the end of my nose as I start keening. Everything breaks at once, all of the guilt and worry I've been carrying around about Mom, all the pressure of trying to keep Dawnie from Glory, all of it for nothing. A sob tries to escape me again, only this time I let it. I keep crying and crying, letting it all go into the ground, back with her. Maybe it can protect her where I failed. Probably not, but it's all I've got. Grief. Emptiness. I feel Willow's arms wrap around me.

For a second I pull away. A part of me taking over that I didn't even know still existed. The first slayer. Nothing but instinct. Hugs not allowed. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, do not ever see your sister again. But then I fall back into the embrace. She's on her knees too, getting her pants all dirty in my muddy mess of a pile. She doesn't care. I can feel her hand on my head, smoothing my hair down, trying to calm me. And I just keep crying, never stopping the endless flow of sadness oozing from my body.

She doesn't try to tell me it'll be okay. She doesn't reassure me that she's here for me. All she does is make tiny little shushing noises in my ear and hold me while I rock. I look up, and through a blur of tears, see Xander and Giles carrying the front end of the mahogany box we chose to put her in forever. Like a little doll. Never to be played with again. I can't tell who the men are helping them carry her, but it doesn't matter, none of it matters. Willow pulls me to my feet.

They slide the casket into place, using the ugly pulleys to hold her up for one last moment. My hand scoops up a handful from the pile I've made and I hold it over her box. But instead of dropping it I bring my hand down to the surface, placing the handful of green flakes and dirt over where her heart would be. My baby sister. I failed my mom and her. That was my job, protect Dawn. And I failed.

My hand shakes as I pull it back. I use it to wipe away the tears again. I'm sure my face is covered in dirt but I don't care. I watch Will pick up a small stone and place it on the casket. It takes a minute before I get why, but as soon as it clicks, I find one on the ground to place next to hers. Forever missed. Xander puts one single flower down on the casket. I'm not sure what kind it is, other than the kind that they use at funerals, but he adds a small stone alongside mine and Will's. Giles does the same and we all step back, allowing the funeral to be over, allowing her to be lowered into the ground.

None of us move, no one leaves the grave site until the last shovel of earth has been thrown. We all just stand here, watching, I don't know about everyone else, but a surreal sense of … of none of this being real washes over me as I watch.

As the last bit of ground settles, Willow turns me around, heading towards home. We walk in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Nothing will ever be the same again, I won't ever have to fight over the bathroom with her, I won't ever hug her, or kiss her, or tell her that she's loved again. Even though I thought I had cried out everything I had to cry back at her grave, as we walk up the walkway to the front door of the house, tears crash over again.

Giles opens the door and lets Will steer me towards the sofa. I fall onto it, collapsing into a ball, curling into a fetal position and just letting my tears go. I feel her move me some, just a little, enough to squeeze in behind me and wrap her arms around me. Her tears are cold on my neck, but if nothing else, they're genuine. I just stay there and let her hold me. I need the physical contact now more than I can voice, but I don't have to. She knows, because she feels it too. After what feels like forever, the tears stop. But I don't move. I can still feel her crying, she's not finished yet. I drift off into unconsciousness.

~BtVS~

Drifting awake but keeping my eyes shut, I try to stretch, only to be stopped by Tara laying beside me. I drop back down in my spot, letting my arm fall back over her waist, and lean my face in to nuzzle her neck. Letting my hand trail down her side, I barely touch her, feeling the goose-bumps that follow my finger tips. I feel the heat from the sun through the window, warming the room. A small smile plays on my lips; I lean close to her ear whispering, "Babe, it's time to get up." I breathe in the scent of her hair. And open one eye. To find Buffy.

My other eye shoots open and I pull my arm back like I've been burned, backing further into the couch cushions, not that it's very possible but its nearly possible and oh Goddess, I was just about to fondle Buffy. I can feel the flush work its way into my cheeks. The quick move I made to pull myself out from under her jostles her awake and she turns to look at me. Her eyes look puffy and blood shot. Poor Buffy. I can feel my expression turn from shock to concern in an instant at what I see as I stare at her, the pink tint leaving just as quickly. Not only are her eyes puffy and bloodshot, but they look vacant too. More abandoned than I've ever seen anyone's before.

I slide back down the couch, reclaiming the spot I just vacated. "Sorry I woke you, I didn't... I uh.. uhm.. just sorry." I mumble out as she moves from lying next to me to sitting upright a foot away.

Her tone is completely flat, "It's fine."

The way we were just laying flashes into my mind. Running my fingers up her side. Like an evil, evil tease, the thoughts won't go away. I keep seeing her, only I know that under the thin fabric my fingers trailed over, her skin is tan and I imagine what goose-bumps must look like on her. I shake my head. I just got Tara back. After so long fighting to keep her, fighting to keep us an us…who do I fantasize about? Buffy. Again. I thought I was over this…?

The silence between us stretches on for eons. I smooth my hair back behind my ears, finally banishing all thoughts of the naughty variety and stand suddenly. "Are you hungry?" I need something to do, something with my hands so that I don't just sit here all day stewing in guilt about a quick moment of confusion. I mean, I didn't even realize it was Buffy. Did I? I want to deny it, but I can't. I knew the second my finger trailed over her hip bone that it wasn't Tara. I kept moving anyway.

She shakes her head slightly and I roll my eyes. "C'mon Buff, I know how much you eat. I don't think I've ever been around you when you_weren't_ starving."

Biting her bottom lip, she stares down at the ground. Is she really that bad off? For Buffy not to want food…she's worrying me. I grab onto her wrist, hauling her off the sofa anyway.

"Well, even if you're not hungry, I am. C'mon you can help me cook breakfast." Normally, I'd never dream of suggesting she try to cook anything. I mean, I've seen her burn toast before, even while she sat watching it brown more and more each minute. But as much as I don't need to sit here and stew in my thoughts, Buffy needs to even less.

She lets me drag her into the kitchen and lean her against the island. Going to the pantry, I pull out pancake mix and syrup, then stop at the fridge for some milk before dropping everything onto the island behind her. "How about you do the mixin' and I'll do the flippin'?" I try to keep my tone light. Fluffy. Like pancakes should be.

She doesn't respond to my question so I turn her around to face the tiny counter. Shuffling through the drawers, I pull out a measuring cup and a whisk before setting them down in front of her. As soon as the utensils make a tiny metallic clink noise, she starts moving, opening the mix and measuring out enough. She even turns from the island on her own and grabs a big bowl to mix everything in.

I don't let my relief show through as I grab the biggest pan and drop a little butter in it. I can hear her pouring milk, then putting it up behind me. And the crisp noise of the whisk hitting on the side of the bowl reaches my ear. I let out a breath. She's so far past the point of 'okay' that I don't know if she would've moved at all if I hadn't pulled her from the couch.

I need to go home and shower, but leaving her alone right now so isn't an option. What if she just stops again? Just stops everything in a split second, stops living, stops being Buffy, stops slaying and eating, stops thinking. Just becomes catatonic? I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back the tears. I don't know if I can pull her out of that again. I don't know that I have it in me.

But if I don't, who will? Giles? He couldn't even if he wanted to. There's so much trust he lost and never regained after the cruciamentum that I instantly rule out asking him. Xander is the next obvious choice, but I'm not looking forward to another "This is my Xander," speech from Anya. I can't think of any other way to explain to her that none of us are going to 'steal' him away. So that leaves… me. Me and Tara. Together we could fix it. I think.

A soft thunk next to me startles me out of my thoughts. I look down to see the pancake batter mixed and waiting to be ladled out onto the warm pan. I set to work cooking, biting back the question of if she wants funny or regular shaped. I don't think she'll care enough to even choose. I can feel her behind me, hovering. "Why don't you go and change out of those clothes?" I finally ask. I don't know what to do, how to get her motivated to move. She's always been the determined one, the one with a plan, and now she's not and it's all just falling onto me, and here I am hoping for the best.

I hear a small "Okay," from behind me and feel her leave the kitchen. I let out a breath of air. I need Tara, I can't do this by myself. She left with Xander and Giles yesterday while I stayed with Buffy, but where did she say she was going? I scrunch my nose trying to remember. The dorms. She said she was going to pack at our dorm. Should I interrupt? She has a flight to her aunt's to catch by two tomorrow. She called her mom's sister as soon as she was coherent. Her aunt Amilia was so excited to hear from her since the last time she'd heard from anyone was when Tara first got mind sucked that she asked her to come out to visit.

This summer is gonna be our first time that we've really slept apart since moving in together. And I'm really not looking forward to it.

She's leaving too soon to finish up the packing anyway. I want to get my time in with her while I still can, so I grab the phone and dial the dorm. It rings seven, eight, nine, ten, times before I finally drop the receiver. She's probably hauling stuff down to the car. All of her stuff, besides the clothes she's taking with her, is going to my parent's house. Not that they know. Or will notice. They'll be gone all summer teaching courses in Rome, so we should have the house to ourselves. I smile at the thought. I love school, but I love the idea of getting to sleep in and spend time with her nearly as much, if not more than the thought of new classes and books.

Buffy shuffles back into the kitchen and grabs three of the pancakes. I resist the urge to comment on her lack of hunger and her taking my pancakes and watch her smother them in syrup. She says, "Thank you," softly and walks into the dining room after grabbing a fork. I finish up the cooking and join her, bringing the extra pancakes out on a plate because I'm pretty sure she'll devour them, too. But she hasn't even taken a bite in the ten minutes since she came to sit out here by herself.

Biting back a sigh, I tear into my food. Around a mouthful I say, "You've gotta eat Buff." I can see her shoulders slump in defeat and she cuts a small bite out of the stack of slimy mess sitting in front of her. A large frown forms on her face. She puts it in her mouth, chewing slowly. Then sets her fork back down. I roll my eyes. "Dammit Buffy, you can't just not eat. It won't kill you."

I watch her expression change from the frown. For a second I think she's going to just cave in but instead I see anger form there. Anger towards me. She looks bitter when she finally spits out, "Fine." And promptly devours everything on her plate. I sit staring in amazement. She just stuffed all three pancakes into her mouth at once and chewed for maybe two minutes before swallowing the whole thing. This time I let the sigh out. The noise draws her attention and I see moisture gathering in her eyes before she looks away.

At least she has the good graces to act ashamed of her anger and drops her eyes to the floor. I ignore the mini tantrum and ask, "So what's the plan for the day?"

She shrugs with disinterest, and when she answers her tone is just as flat as it was earlier, "Giles said something about training." She pulls her eyes up to look at me and I see the unshed tears still there. When she speaks again her voice has lost its flat edge. Instead, she sounds throaty and raw, "I thought maybe I'd uhm…" her voice falters and she clears her throat before continuing, "Maybe start putting some of Dawnie's stuff up in the attic." She pauses again before adding, "With Moms?"

I nod agreement but I really don't know if she's in the right place mentally to try to handle that right now. I offer, "If it gets too hard, I can," I pause, "take over, but only if you need it, I don't want to overstep."

She looks me dead in the eye, saying, "I don't think you even _can_ overstep Will. You and Xander and Giles are all I have left. You guys are …" She trails off. I let it hang there. Waiting for her to finish it. But she doesn't.

Finally, I do, "Family?" I ask, my voice sounding more hopeful than it should. I know we're family, but she nods anyway, confirming what she can't say out loud. I stand up; grabbing my plate and hers and taking them to the kitchen, sitting them in the sink before walking back out to her. She's still sitting in the same spot so I pull her up and into as big a bear hug as I can make. "I love you Buffy." I whisper into her ear.

I can feel her tears cool and wet on my shoulder and I hear a muffled, choked out reply of, "I love you too, Will."

~BtVS~

Looking out the window, I see a plane get lower and lower, dropping its wheels and finally screeching to a slow down point. I can see my face reflected in the glass. I look pale. Not pale that's sheik either, the dead washed out pale of someone who should be outside but never sees the light of day. My face is the palest part of me, my cheeks don't even have any rosiness in them. I press my hand to the cool glass. I can hear them behind me, saying goodbye.

I don't look back. It's a private moment and really none of my business. I wouldn't even be here if Will hadn't dragged me along with her in her parents car. Yesterday was a complete bust. Training with Giles went…well, training like. Only with more of the falling on my ass moments than I usually have. If he noticed he didn't say anything. But come to think of it, I'm sure it was just his British reserve keeping his mouth sewn shut.

A hand places itself on my shoulder and I look up to see Tara standing behind me, reflecting back next to my ghostly self. I turn and give her a quick hug. "Have a safe flight." She smiles softly at me.

"I'll try You take care of yourself, and Wills, okay?" She asks softly.

I nod, "Come back soon?" I don't have the heart to tell her that I'll try. I can't promise to take care of anyone, not even myself right now. I wish I could tell her that I love her. I love her like any member of my family, but we've never said the words. And to say them now? It seems too desperate.

I just have this feeling that it won't be much longer.

I watch her grab her bag and walk towards the gate. Will stays with me, holding my hand and anchoring me in the present. Yesterday was a disaster.

I tried to start on Dawnies room, to start boxing things up, but when I went in, nothing was the same as it had been before. All her stuff was gone. All of it. Every picture, diary, scrap of clothing, even awards, all of it was just gone. And then it hit me.

This must be what her room looked like before the monks made her. Before they created this person out of nowhere to be my baby sister and stuck all these memories in my head. This is what the house would be like if only me and Mom ever lived here. I lost it.

I don't know how long it took for her to find me, but after a while I heard Will calling my name but I didn't reply. I stayed where I was, hiding in some small corner, looking inside the chest that was part of Dawns room but is still here. She used to keep her diaries here, all of them. But now the chest is filled with old pictures of me and Mom, some art gallery display brochures, MOO handouts and other remnants of a life without Dawn.

I stared at that box forever, willing it to bring her diaries back, to give me one last chance to get to know my sister. If I could only find one thing she had written on, or some picture, anything to remind me she was real. I could hold her and touch her, I could breathe in her scent when I hugged her, I could chase her around the house pretending to be a vampire. And she was the one who believed me, the only one who didn't think I was crazy to believe in vampires. I need something to know that she really existed, that I didn't just bury an empty casket.

But there was nothing there.

After she found me crying, she held me for a while, waiting for me to calm down enough to be able tell her exactly what had upset me so much. But I think she already knew. I saw her eyes widen almost comically when she first came into the room, taking in everything that was where it shouldn't be and nothing being where it should be. It took her at least ten minutes to get me to stop blubbering like an idiot. "It's like she never even existed," I finally said.

She nodded and asked about photo albums. I went in search of them, but it was another blank. No photos of her anywhere, whereas before, at least every other one was full of shots of her as a baby…me holding her and feeding her, watching her grow up throughout the years.

Maybe those kids had the right idea? Maybe everything about it all was fake? Maybe I should just forget that I ever had a little sister. She wasn't real anyway…? But I can't. I feel the ache in my chest still when I think about her, especially when I wonder what kind of hell dimension she's in right now. When she jumped into the vortex, did they take her soul as payment? The must have. They took it and now she's dead and she can't even be a memory because the stupid monks have even taken that away from me.

"C'mon Buff, let's go home." Will tugs on my hand, pulling me away from the window. Bye bye Tara, I'll miss you. Please take care of Will when I'm gone. You have to. You're everything to her.

She loads me into the car and we pull out of LAX, turning the car towards Sunnydale. How am I supposed to mourn her if I don't have any proof she ever even existed? Wil'ls hand is still holding mine, almost like she knows that if I could I'd jump out the window onto the highway like some dumb dog. We're nearly out of the city when I ask, "Do we… I mean, could we, do we have to go back to Sunnydale right away? Could we maybe stay and sit on the beach here for a minute? I'd like to…" I trail off.

She knows what I mean anyway and we pull over and get off, heading towards the beach. It's a warm day out. I just need something to ground me. We're real. Me, Willow, Tara, Dawn, Xander, Giles, we're all real. Vampires really exist. I'm not just crazy. I never just made up a sister. She existed, she loved, she annoyed.

We pull up to an impossibly crowded parking lot and she lets go of my hand. I get out, crunching my way down towards the sand. I just start walking. Away from the parking lot, away from people, away from even the seagulls. I walk for twenty minutes, never stopping to see if Willow follows. I already know she is, I can hear the soft thump of her feet as she scoops sand up into her sandals. Finally I find a spot where no one is around and plop down into the sand. Taking off my shoes and socks, I bury my toes in the warm surf. Will sits next to me, never saying a word just taking my hand back in hers. I pull my knees up to my chest, crossing my arms over them and leaning my head to the side, looking at her. "Why did they make her un-exist?" I ask finally.

She chews on her bottom lip, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "I'm not sure. Maybe because the spell ended?"

I think about this for a minute. "But if it was all about the spell ending, then why can I still remember her? Why does it still hurt? Why didn't the spell make the hurt be non-existent to begin with?"

She shrugs before simply saying, "I don't know Buff. Magic works in strange ways."

I nod and turn to stare out at the ocean. "Do you think she's in hell?"

A startled expression crosses her face, "What? No Buffy how could you think that? She didn't commit suicide she-"

I cut her off. "She died jumping through a portal to hell. Something had to be taken to shut it. What if it was her soul?"

She looks at the ocean, thinking before answering me. "This is gonna sound really strange but I don't know if she had a soul. I don't think the monks, uhm, gave her one."

Then if they didn't take her soul, what did they take? Her life? Her essence? Her aura? What does a portal need to shut? Someone willing to sacrifice themselves or pure intentions?

"Is there any way to see if she did? To make sure that if she did, she's not in hell?" The thought of her in hell being tortured second after second makes me nauseas and dizzy and I'm sure that if Will made me eat before we left home I'd already be puking.

Her eyebrows scrunch up as she thinks about my question. I went through this with Angel, knowing he was being tortured day in and day out. But then…things were different then. He's a vampire, she was human. But he got pulled back the same way she did. The blood is what opens it, the blood is what closes it. It's always about blood. Eventually Will says, "I'm not sure. I can look in some of Giles' books, maybe some kind of…location spell? Or something?" She bites her lip, hesitant to commit to something she's not sure will work. I get it.

I nod and dig my feet deeper into the earth. The sand surrounds them both, coming up to cover my ankles as I push further in. The weight of the sand on my feet feels nice, grounding. I'm here. At the beach with my Will and it's just us. Sitting and talking. Like the good ole days, only now it's not the same. Or maybe it's actually the same as it was before Dawn. But it doesn't feel like we've gone back to the way we were, it just feels like she's still missing. I never would've taken her with us to the beach, never would've had girl talk time with her, all because she was my sister. So I never got to know who she was and now it feels like I'm the one who's missing out on something, because at least Will and Xander talked to her. At least they didn't view her as a constant pain in the ass. Like me.

And that's really what it boils down to, isn't it? I never took the time to get to know my only sister. I was always too busy running off to slay whatever demon, and to cheerleading practice before that. And I lost sight of her. I'm mourning someone I never even took the time to get to know.

I squeeze my eyes shut as hard as they'll go, refusing to let the tears spill over again. I'm so tired of crying constantly. My eyes hurt, and I'm pretty sure I look like a cartoon raccoon. My eyes are bruised up from me wiping tears away over and over again. I wish I could be like the ocean. Constant. Far, far away from here and never having to love anything or anyone.

That feeling creeps into my tummy again. Not much longer left. The sun starts setting, cooling our spots and making the sand around my feet go from warm to cold. Willow grabs my hand and pulls me up. "Let's go, its nearly dark." We walk back to the car and I buckle myself back into my spot.

She turns the car towards home and we're off again. One last time. And it hits me. Willow and Xander knew her. "What was her favorite color?"

She looks at me, "Who's? Dawn's?" I nod and she answers, "Purple."

Purple. Maybe I can get to know her after all. Maybe.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to my beta Tainteddr34ms. And thanks for all the reviews/feedback. Enjoy. :)

Pulling my eyes from the road, I glance over at Buffy's inert form. She hasn't moved in at least twenty minutes and I'm starting to wonder if she's actually asleep or just pretending to be to avoid talking. I could understand either option really. If I could, I'd be doing the same thing. The eighteen wheeler in front of me starts to break and I let off the gas.

I'm still all shaky from dealing with Buffy's freak out at the beach. She cried the whole walk back to the car, letting the tears dry where they rolled down her cheeks. She has a couple tiny smudges of black and brown streaking down her cheeks. I stare at my knuckles, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

She's so far past the dimension of okay. I think if I hadn't been with her she might have just walked out into the surf until she drowned. How am I supposed to get her motivated about living again? It's not like she can just-whamo presto-be fixed, none of us can. Dawn is dead. Not only is she dead, everyone's just lumped her into this massive statistical group of teenagers, like she had some choice in the matter.

The worst part is that there's not even any proof left for Buffy to … to I don't know, mourn, get over it, sort through everything. Just hold Dawn's stuff. Read her writings. Know that she didn't kill herself. She never would have. Well, except that one time on Buffy's birthday when she first found out she was the key. But that was different, she was understandably freaked, and okay, so maybe she did go a little over the top, what with the whole nearly bleeding to death. But still, she was a teenager, being dramatic is like breathing to them.

All of the memories the monks have imprinted in us are the only things left of Dawn, and even those are starting to fade, at least for me. I wonder if Buffy's memories of her are fading too? Probably not. I mean, Dawn was her sister, even if she wasn't technically her sister. Buffy still thought they were the whole time they grew up. Or maybe that's just what we remember? Maybe Dawn's room really was the way it is now.

How do I deal with every aspect of her being gone? Worse, how can I help Buffy get over Dawn not being here when I can't even help myself?

The truck breaks again and I slow down to twenty. Damn construction zone! I drum my fingers on the wheel and brake some more. Really, there's only so much slowing down we can do before we're just gonna stop all forward momentum. And we're definitely about to hit that point.

As we slide to a stop, Buffy turns over in her seat to face me. See, that totally makes me think she's awake and just faking. I wonder if she'll be angry if I poke her awake? I glance over at her face. She looks exhausted, like she hasn't slept pretty much ever. She needs sleep more than I need company.

I drop my head onto the steering wheel. What am I going to do? I let my forehead bounce a couple of times. It'd be so much easier to just go away with Tara. I could've just sucked it up and spent most of the money my parents left for the summer and gone with her. At least there I could grieve without worrying about setting someone off in a suicidal rampage.

No. Don't think that. Buffy needs me here. She needs her best friend, even if we haven't really been the best of friends lately. It's not like we're intentionally growing apart, just everything with Glory and Dawn being the key, then Tara getting brain sucked; there just really hasn't been very much quality bonding time available lately.

My eyes start to water but I don't let the tears form the rest of the way. I can't. Lifting my head back up, I watch the traffic again. I could just teleport us home, but then what about the car? I don't know if I can teleport a car, it's kind of inanimate and heavy. Not to mention at least five times bigger than me. But maybe.

Then again, if teleporting Glory alone could give me that big of a nose bleed, then the car probably isn't the best idea. Maybe I could just leave the car on the side of the road and come back. In like a week. Or three. Whenever traffic clears. I flip on the blinker and try to edge over to the right. Service road here we come.

I start working my way across the dotted line only to be cut off by some jerk in a new, wanna be army truck. "Douche," I mutter under my breath as we instantly stop. And Buffy gets thrown forward. So much for not waking her. She turns to look at me and I cringe on the inside. Buffy does not, I repeat, does NOT like to be woken up. So I expect her to be super grumpy when she stares at me but instead she doesn't even look like she sees me sitting beside her. "Sorry," I mumble out.

She doesn't reply. Then again, this could go in the good column. Not getting your head bitten off for something like keeping us both alive is always a positive. We sit cockeyed in traffic for ten minutes in silence. Just keeps stretching and stretching, like a not so nice version of Gumby. My fingers twitch on the steering wheel. Sit still. I clamp them down on the wheel and look away. Only to look back to see them tapping again. Dammit, just quit fidgeting.

"Do you know what the first thing I ever heard her say was?" If anyone else were sitting in the car, I'd have a hard time deciding if she was asking me or them, but since it's just the two of us, it's gotta be me.

I glance at her quickly before looking back at the road, "What?"

"Love you." Her tone is thick with grief. So thick it sounds like she's choking. She looks over at me and I see the tears shining in her eyes. "It was so stupid, I just used to tell her that all the time, over and over again. Love you and I promise I'll always protect you. I mean, that's what you're supposed to do when you have a little sister. You promise to protect her forever and ever, until the world ends and past." I hear her swallow. "But you can't protect someone forever. Eventually they have to grow up and face the world on their own. Their world, not yours. But that doesn't make you want to protect them any less. I think it makes it worse."

I look over at her again, focusing on her reflection this time. I can see her cheeks shining with salty moisture. She licks her lips and makes a big snuffly noise, trying to clear her breathing way. I reach over and grab her hand with mine, leaving one holding us in place. "You did protect her Buff." It sounds lame coming out of my mouth. More false comforts, but she did protect Dawn. Above all else, Buffy tried to save her. "I know it sounds … I don't know. Like it's not enough. But you did try, Buffy. That has to count for something."

Silence fills the car again. Is this how it's going to be from now on? Long stretches of silence filling every aspect of our friendship? I look at the road again, sighing when I realize we haven't even moved a foot. I start messing with the radio, trying to find the AM station that gives traffic updates regularly. Static noise charges the air and I turn the volume down some.

"Why wasn't I faster?" The question comes out of nowhere.

I do my best not to turn around and slap her. "Buffy, I watched you fight your way up that tower inch by inch. You couldn't have been any faster unless Glory hadn't been there stopping you every step of the way." I stare out my window now, gathering my thoughts before I finish. "You fought harder than anything I've ever seen before Buff. And what if you had been faster? What? You could have gone up there and stood with her before she died? You and I both know that once the ritual started, there was nothing any of us could have done."

I can feel her eyes boring into me. But I don't care. I'm telling her the truth and she knows it. "Dawn knew it too. That's why she did what she did. She had to, don't you get it?"

She nods mutely. But I don't think she does get it. Self sacrifice is something I've always had problems wrapping my head around, so maybe, really, I'm the one who can't see it. But I know it. Logically, I know it even if I don't feel it in my bones.

I nearly say something about her simply placating me but I bite it back. She gets it.

Finally, the red break lights in front of us disappear and we lurch forward. Little hallelujah angels start singing in my head before I remember we're in the middle of a serious conversation. Focus.

I inch forward and onto the service road. Score: Rosenberg one, traffic zero.

"I get it more than you could ever know." Her voice is soft, like she's whispering something she doesn't want to admit.

I'm quiet as I reply, "I'm sure you do."

Up ahead, the Welcome to Sunnydale sign starts to become visible, but only because of the new light they've installed over it. So visitors coming to town at night would be able to tell where they are. Supposedly. I roll my eyes. Just another way to cater our lives to blood sucking fiends.

~BtVS~

The door swings shut behind me. I know she's right, really. I did try. I tried so hard, but that moment was still there, that stupid moment where I knew Glory was going to win. For just one second, I quit believing that I could protect Dawn. And now because of it, she's dead. Not because the moment itself happened, but because I'm so stuck on it. All that time I spent locked inside my head when Glory first took Dawn was precious time that could have been spent saving her. Taking her away from that hell bitch before the ceremony even started.

I fall onto my bed and roll over to face the wall. I wonder what Will's doing? I can hear her down stairs moving around some. Not a lot, but the occasional thunk echoes up through the floor to me. Most likely anyone else wouldn't be able to hear it. But lucky me.

Lucky me for getting chosen. For having a little sister who was destined to be killed. Lucky me for losing my mom, for losing any chance I had with my sister long before she even existed. It's mostly unfair because, before, when we lived in LA, Dawn was the only one who didn't think I was certifiable. But somehow, somewhere along the line, that thing between us all sisters have faded. Somehow it became less about us. More about survival. And any chance of knowing my sister got yanked out from under me. How did all the other Slayer's do it? How could they function like this? I feel like I'm trying to hold an entire world up on my shoulders and I don't have anyone who I can turn to just for an unconditional hug.

If they could do it, I'm sure I could. But there's a distinct difference between me and them. They never knew their families, never knew what they could be missing out on, what they could lose. And it made them all die.

So then what's going to happen to me? Am I going to die now, too? I have nothing left to hold me to this world, I'm not in love, I don't have any children of my own, and my Watcher alone sure as hell isn't the same as a Mom and sister I love. I turn over onto my stomach as I feel my eyes fill with tears. Why can't I have at least one of them back?

I feel the blanket get wet on my face, making it warm. But I don't move away. I just stay there, breathing in the warm wet blanket and wishing for my family back.

"Buffy?" I shoot up. Somehow, Will managed to get in my room without me hearing. My hand comes up and wipes away the smudges on my face from the crying. She yanks her eyes from my face and looks down at the ground. "Sorry I didn't mean to uhm, interrupt. I was just gonna let you know that I made some food." She looks at me again. "If you're hungry."

I feel my stomach start to growl at the mention of food but resist the urge to slap it. Shut up stomach. I don't want food. But I nod anyway.

Following her down the stairs, I stop at the dining room entrance. She made spaghetti with meat sauce. As the smells hit me, my stomach practically lurches forward. When was the last time I ate? I try to remember but the closest I can come is the pancakes the morning after the funeral. Everything else is a hazy mass of non-stop, autopilot Buffy.

Not bothering to wait for her to tell me to sit down, I pull out my chair and plop down into it, filling my plate with noodles and sauce. Within five minutes, my plate is clear. I glance over at Will and realize she still hasn't eaten. She's just sitting there, frozen, watching me devour everything on my plate. She smiles when our eyes meet. "Guess you got your appetite back." She sounds cheerful about it.

I shoot upright. Uh-oh. And then I'm running at full slayer speed. I just barely make it to the bathroom before everything I just shoved down my throat comes right back up. Great. Noodles are so disgusting to puke, all slimy and long and I start gagging again.

I feel Will come up behind me, pulling my hair back from my face so it doesn't co-mingle with the spaghetti puke. After a while, I lean my head on the cool porcelain surface of the toilet seat. My voice feels gravely when it comes out. "Well, that sucked." Her hand keeps moving on my back, making slow, tiny, soothing circles. That start to shake. I turn as best I can without lifting my head really to see her.

She's crying. I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't want her to cry. Her crying makes me cry. I wipe off the back of my mouth with my hand, drawing it across like a three year old would for snot, and turn around to hug her. I don't know if this is what she needs, or if this is what she wants me to do. But I need it. I need to hold her and have her hold me and I don't mean in any kind of sexual way either. Physical human contact. I squeeze a little tighter and I feel her return the squeeze. She's still shaking, but calming down some.

My voice is still rough, but my throat is already feeling better. I end up sounding like a boy hitting puberty as I manage to squeak out, "I'm sorry I puked."

She pulls back to look at me and starts laughing the second she sees my face. That's not what upset her?

My face must show my confusion because after a minute she manages to get the giggles under control and catch her breath. "Buff, it's fine that you puked." Another laugh escapes before her expression saddens. "I'm just worried about you. Sorry for the slip."

I grab her hand. "You can worry about me Will. Hell, it's a good thing. You might be the only one left to do it even." I drop my eyes to the floor and say softly, "I need it."

She gives me one last squeeze before untangling herself from me and standing up. I watch her get a hand towel and wet it, then pass it off to me so I can wipe my face clean. When I pull it back, I realize it's pretty much ruined. Most of the puke must have ended up on my face instead of the toilet. Great. I hand the cloth back to her and watch her make a face at it. "I'm gonna go drop this in the washer. You should uhm…" She gestures to my clothes. Looking down I see that I really, really must have missed the toilet.

I make a face at my puke covered self. Then look at her. To see that she's also got a good amount stuck to her clothes. "You should…uhm…too." I gesture to her clothes. She looks down and her eyes widen comically in surprise.

She nods resolutely. "Okay so, you take your clothes off and hop in the shower and I'll throw mine in the washer with yours and uh…wait my turn." Her cheeks flush red. I know she's thinking about how dirty what she just told me to do is, what with the taking my clothes off. But we used to take gym class together. And shared a dorm. It's not like nakedness is something new between us. So I don't comment.

I get it, things are different now. She likes women. Or specifically, a woman. Tara. But Tara isn't me. I don't get why brand new walls of modesty should suddenly be built. Then again, I guess it's really up to her. "Alright." I stand up. "Here, you should take a towel or something at least." I start rummaging around in the cabinet for a towel but can't find one. Turning back to face her I keep going, "So you're not like…walking around the house naked or uh…something. Or maybe you should change into PJ's?" And then I realize that she probably wants pajamas _after_ she's clean.

She nods, "Just throw your clothes on the ground outside the door or in the sink and I'll poke my hand in and grab them, okay?"

"Sure." I pull my shirt up. She does a complete one eighty in under a second. Guess she really is weirded out by it. I shrug, turning to face the shower curtain, and hear her walk out of the bathroom. Poor Will. I turn on the water and adjust the temperature, making it barely tolerable. Just below boiling. But puke is nasty. And covered in germs. Boiling is the only safe solution.

I reach down and put the stopper in, then sit on the tub floor. I can hear Will down in the basement starting the washer. Water rises slowly around me, filling the air with heavy moisture. I drop my head down into the water. I wonder how long I can hold my breath for? When we were kids, Dawn and I used to have 'holding your breath under water the longest' contests. But I haven't tried since I became the Slayer.

It was kind of a put away childish things time. No more games. Everything became life or death. Mostly just death, really.

I wonder if I could retire? Quit now while I'm 'ahead'. Even though I'm not really ahead. Only in the sense that I've still got mine. I start counting. One vampire, two vampires, three vampires, four vampires. I keep going. And make it up to three hundred and fifty vampires before everything goes black.

~BtVS~

I can feel my cheeks flush as she starts taking off her pukey clothes. Do not think about it. Opening the door, I let myself out. I walk down the stairs and strip down to underoos, grabbing my pajama pants from the 'dirty' pile and pulling them on. Walking back up stairs, I find a shirt and pull it on, too. Now to handle Buffy.

After a second of standing on the other side of the bathroom door, I hear the shower curtain getting pulled back and let out a breath. At least she's not standing there just naked and covered in puke. I wrinkle my nose at the idea. It's just a little too reminiscent of two girls one erm… ew. I poke my arm into the bathroom, reaching for the sink and hoping she left her clothes there.

My hand comes into contact with nothing but cold marble and I try to reach further into the tiny bathroom. This is so ridiculous. I'm flush against the door up to my shoulder, trying to reach around while never letting the rest of my body go through the small space. Maybe the ground? I drop down to a crouch and feel around, finally finding her wet clothes. I try not to think about the fact that I just shoved my hand in spaghetti vomit and pull the clothes out, not breathing out of my nose at all. I jolt upright and run down the stairs towards the washer.

Blood I can handle, food I can handle. Heck, I don't even mind cleaning up pee, or I don't think I would. But puke? It's so chunky and unprocessed and- I feel bile rise up in the back of my throat and swallow it down. No more thinking about it. None. None, none, none. I drop her dirty's in with mine, pouring a generous amount of soap on the pile.

I open the dryer, checking inside to make sure that it isn't full so I can move our clothes over as soon as they finish. And find a load of towels. Not just some, but it looks like all? When did she do this? Or did she even? Did Dawn? I'm not sure. I start folding the towels though, regardless. I bet she needs one. Carrying the stack, I walk up the stairs and knock on the bathroom door. "Buff!" I holler through the wood. And start waiting. I knock again and try being just a little louder, "Buffy!" My foot starts tapping. Oh screw it. I say to her, "I'm coming in, hopefully you're decent."

Opening the door, I step in a puddle. What the hell? I look down at my sock. It's completely soaked through. I open the door a little further. The whole bathroom is flooded. Yanking the shower curtain back, I manage to jump out of the way just as the stupid metal bar falls down. Buffy lays in the tub. No, not laying, floating. Unconscious. Face down. Grabbing the curtain rod, I shove it out of the way.

I step into the tub, instantly turning off the water and flipping her over simultaneously. Bending at the knees, I try to get a hold on her slippery body, but she's dead weight. Slayer dead weight. I heave. And slip. Landing on my tail bone against the edge of the tub. God dammit! I wrap my arms around her and pull, keeping both hands under her arm pits for leverage. I finally manage to get her out of the tub and onto the wet ground. Not any dryer, but at least here I can start CPR. And I do, right after checking for a pulse. One two three four. Am I supposed to go to fifteen or thirty? I can't remember. Tilting her head back, I pinch her nose and breathe into her mouth. Then start pumping again.

I need help. An ambulance. She needs to go to the hospital. Think Rosenberg, think. How can I get a doctor but keep doing CPR? What if I stop right before she comes back? Where's the phone at? I try to remember. There's one down stairs in the kitchen, and one across the hall in Buffy's room. Wait, what about telepathy? Who could I get a hold of? Is anyone at all close by? I try screaming, "Someone help!" Listening, I realize this is stupid. No one's going to hear me. I keep counting. Is Xand home? If he is, he might be close enough. XANDER! I project the thought out, hitting him upside the head in the middle of whatever he's doing after work. Hopefully, anyway.

I wait for him to say something back. He doesn't. Xander please, please get this. I push hard at my thoughts, willing them to go to him. Xander call 911! A second later I get a reply. He doesn't even ask why. All I get is a short, simple response. _On it. _Thank Goddess.

My movements never stop. Please breathe Buffy. I puff air into her mouth. One two three. Air. Count. Air. Count. I go for another air and jump back as watery puke comes flying up to cover my entire face. Great. I get all the puke off and what does she do? Puke on me all over again. I reach up and wipe both eyes clear of the slimy stuff. At least she's alive.

I think.

It's like her body just spasmed out the water. I check for a pulse. Maybe. I can't tell if it's mine or hers. Concentrate. I press my fingers to her wrist again. It's there. Not really consistent or strong, but I think I can feel it. Downstairs I can hear the front door open quickly. Someone yells up the stairs "Paramedics!"

I lean back and reply, "Up here!" Standing, I walk over to the door frame, keeping my gaze on Buffy.

They rush up the stairs and I turn to take them both in. Two guys. One with a box, the other a bag. "In here," I say. My voice doesn't project any of the panic I feel, instead I sound almost dead flat.

Pushing past me, they set to work. I watch until they put the plastic pump in her mouth but then I look away. Please be okay. How long was she out for? Was it too long? I try to remember, how long did it take me to get back up there? Ten minutes? If she was uh. Dead. That entire time? That's too long. There'll be brain damage. I should let someone know. But who? Giles? I start to move out the bathroom door, towards Buffy's room and the telephone.

"Hello?" A British voice comes up from below. Giles. He's here?

"Giles?" I ask back. And he comes rushing up the stairs.

"Willow, where's Buffy?" He starts to hurry past me towards the door.

My eyebrows scrunch as I try to figure out exactly how he knows to be here. "Did Xand call you?" Stupid question, he must've.

He nodded and managed to get to the door just in time to be pushed back out into the hallway as the paramedics carry out a board with Buffy laying unmoving on it. "Excuse me." One says as he manages to get to the stairs.

"Where are you taking her?" He asks.

One of the guys turns his head and says over his shoulder, "Sunnydale ER, you can follow us there."

Giles grabs my elbow and starts to lead me down the stairs when I realize I'm still wearing pajamas. With no shoes. My eyes widen and I pull my elbow out of his grasp. "Wait, I need shoes." I turn back and sprint towards Buffy's room, flinging her closet door open and searching desperately for flip flops. C'mon Buff, we live in SoCal for crying out loud. I start digging, throwing out pair after pair of boot and high heels. Finally my hands land on a pair of house slippers. When did Buffy get these? I pull them out and shrug. Better than nothing.

Never bothering to stop and put the slippers on, I head back out into the hall and run down the stairs. Giles waits with his car running. I shut the front door and dart to the passenger's side, throwing myself in the seat and barely managing to get the car door shut before he peels out. I shove the shoes on.

"What happened?" His voice sounds tense. I look at him and can see the worry and fear etched all over his features.

I manage to stammer out, "I-I don't know. One minute she was taking a bath and the next." I swallow. "I tried calling through the door to see if she needed a towel but she never responded so I just let myself in and the bathroom was all flooded and I tried to get her out of the tub but she wasn't breathing so I did CPR and got Xander to call 911 but I don't know what happened." Did she drown herself? On purpose? Did she commit suicide while I was downstairs folding the stupid towels?

My eyes fill with moisture and I reach up, swiping the tears away before they can fall. I knew she wasn't alright. I should've stayed instead of running away like some scaredy church mouse. My voice sounds choked. "I was supposed to be taking care of her." Tears start falling regardless of how fast I wipe them away. It's my fault she nearly died.

Giles doesn't say anything. I don't even get a stiff pat on the back. Finally I look up at him, and look instantly away when I see the anger in his eyes. Anger directed towards me. I think.

I stare out the window, watching the hospital come into view. We jerk to a stop and I realize I never even put on my seat belt. I scrunch my eyes and feel the pressure boil up inside my head like a roaring overflowing volcano. I open them and let myself out of the car. Giles is ten feet ahead of me, practically jogging into the hospital. I start taking bigger steps and catch up just as he's entering the sliding doors.

Walking inside the hospital, I'm instantly hit by the smell of cheap disinfectant and sickness. Giles asks the receptionist, "Buffy Summers?"

She starts clicking on her computer and a second later announces, "She's just been brought into the ER, if you could please fill out these papers." She hands him a full clip board. "And bring them back, you can have a seat in the waiting room." She gestures over to the set of chairs against the wall. Not much of a room. I don't wait for him to tell me to go sit and just walk over, plopping down in one of the seats.

I want to relax, let myself go for a second, maybe a trance? No, I don't want to meditate on the fact that if she dies it'll be because I was too busy folding towels. I drop my head into my hands and stay as still as I can so I don't mess Giles up. He's sitting next to me, filling out the seemingly endless list of questions. Does Buffy have health insurance? Is it a Slayer package or something? Because if she was only on Joyce's, well, it's kind of not here anymore.

Ugh shut up brain. This isn't what I need to be thinking about right now. The important thing is that she's alive. Well, hopefully still, that is. I lean back, letting my head go to rest on the wall behind us. My thumbs start twirling. If she dies, it's on me. Tears well again and I realize the only thing I'm doing is the masochistic thing. Telling myself over and over again that it's my fault. But it kind of is. I wished to be with Tara didn't I? Wished to be able to grieve in peace?

And now, maybe I'll be getting it. Not exactly what I wanted but that's how wish's work.

I take a deep breath, hoping to calm myself. I need to stop with the cynical. Buffy's alive. They wouldn't let her die.

Beside me, Giles starts pinching the bridge of his nose. "What's wrong?" The question pops out of me before I have a chance to stop it.

"What?" He looks at me, "Oh nothing," He turns back to the page.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks to Tainted and everyone for all of the positive feedback, also, please note that the ghost roads are not my creation; they are the work of Christopher Golden in his Gatekeeper Trilogy.

I drop myself onto the front passengers seat and pull on my seat belt. Just what I always wanted. A road trip. With Giles.

Rolling my eyes, I pull on a pair of super dark sunglasses. The hope is that I can sleep the trip away and not have to listen to another boring lecture. That's all I seem to be getting from everyone these days, long lectures and hard stares, like they're hoping if they stare at me long enough or hard enough I'll just crack and tell them my most intimate thoughts and feelings. I roll my eyes at the thought. Like that'll ever happen.

I let out a puff of air in exasperation. It's been two weeks since they let me out of the hospital. Not that it makes much of a difference. I'm on suicide watch where ever I go now, can't even patrol on my own. How am I supposed to keep the vampire population down when I'm constantly being babysat? My one release is now nonexistent. No more demony violence to help me sort through my thoughts. Earlier this week I went out patrolling with Giles, just like old times; only this time it wasn't so much him teaching as trying to tell me that I was 'being too aggressive,' like the vamps care if I take my anger out on them before they're dusted or something. I keep trying to tell everyone that I wasn't trying to kill myself, but no one's buying. Hell I don't even know if I even believe me. Giles glances over at me.

I wait for him to start in on a lecture about how I need to get my life back together. I can see it in his eyes, hovering just under the surface. Enough to bug but not enough to say anything. I've barely slayed two vamps since Dawn died. Well, aside from the one I beat to a bloody paste in front of him. But that was on patrol. Aside from that once, my slaying for the last week has been at an all time low. But no lecture comes, instead he pulls the car out and starts heading towards LA.

I'm no longer allowed to be by myself. When I got home from the hospital, a new shower curtain greeted me. It's dark and not see-through in the slightest. Will told me the doctors wanted to keep me longer, keep me on 'suicide watch,' but the medical bills are already through the roof. The Council doesn't cover going crazy in the Slayer health package. Least not from what I can tell. So they told her that she's gotta be around all the time. No more showers with the door shut. No sleeping with the door shut, no peeing with the door shut, no changing clothes with the door shut. No anything, all together now, with the door shut. The first time I had to try to go pee with the door open, I felt like any minute anything could attack me and there'd I be, a sitting duck waiting for some Elmer Fud of a demon to come wobbling in and kill me with my pants down.

The shower thing though, when she first told me that, I rolled my eyes. And for a second, part of me wondered if it was just so she could get a free show. But I pushed the thought away. Willow's not like that. She's just trying to help me deal, I get it; I just think the thing I really need to deal would be some nice quiet time alone. Unsupervised. With about ten vampires.

Instead, I get supervised cold showers. The water isn't cold, but the draft coming in from the door being open makes it so cold that if I thought I could, I'd try to bring a towel into the shower with me, just for the fact that I'd be warmer. But then the towel would be, well, soaked, and defeating the purpose of having a towel because of just how soaked. I look out the window in time to see the "Now Leaving Sunnydale" sign. Great. Two more hours in Giles's midlife crisis.

Will offered to let me borrow her walkman, but in order to do that you kind of have to have CD's lying around to choose from. Which I don't.

Dawn had a ton of CD's. I've been trying not to think of her. I read somewhere that repeating to myself things about her in the past tense would help me 'come to terms' with her loss. It hasn't yet. Every time I try to stop and think about her specifically, my thoughts instantly scatter outwards. Did she ever get to try, well, anything? She'll never get to eat cherry Garcia again. Or make horrible concoctions to try and trick me into eating them. I'll never get to chase her around with chopsticks pretending to be a vampire. She'll never run and jump onto my bed early on Christmas, excited to open presents, like she used to when we were little.

No one will for that matter. How am I supposed to celebrate Christmas without any family? No Mom making eggnog and omelet's for breakfast. No Dawn sorting through the presents. I guess I could go and find Dad, try to celebrate with him. An image of me, Dad and his secretary sitting around a sparsely decorated kitchen area with a half dead tree crammed into a dark corner pops into my head. All of us uncomfortable and completely unsure of what to say. I blink the image away. No, definitely not ever going to try that.

I look over at Giles. Who does he celebrate Christmas with? The Scoobies? Olivia? Probably not so much her anymore. Not since she learned how the world really is. I guess that's what happens though, once you find out how messed up this world is, your time here starts dwindling. But the Scoobs, well, I could see that. I guess, if he does, shouldn't I, too? I mean, the slaying is kind of the central focus of the Scooby group and well, I am the Slayer. Or, a slayer, I guess.

"Why are we goin' to LA?" I never asked him before. Just nodded and went along. Probably not the best way to convince everyone that I'm not suicidal, but whatever.

He looks away from the highway to make eye contact for a second, breaking it before he answers. "Erm, a contact of mine has uhm, acquired a book I've been looking for for a while on.." His voice drops a couple sound levels, "Glorificus"

I roll my eyes. "I thought she was slayed? Ya know, kaput? No more chances to open an evil hell dimension and all that?" My tone came out bitterer than I intended for it to, but really, I mean, how insensitive can he get?

I look over in time to see him look extremely uncomfortable. "Well, yes, in a manner of speaking, however…" He lets his sentence trail off.

However what? However, she's still alive? However, just because the key is gone doesn't mean she stops? However, losing Dawn means nothing to me? Nothing in this never ending battle? I don't voice any of these thoughts. It would be so easy to just go off on him. To get out of this car, start walking and never look back. I did it once before, why not again?

Because it didn't fix anything. I still had to come back home eventually. I still had to deal with the huge mess I just ran from. But what if this time I didn't come back? I could stay gone forever now, there's no one for me to 'come home to, no Mom or Dawn. No Angel haunting my dreams.

Did he even know about Dawn? Did she ever exist in his memories? I blink back tears. At least she still exists in mine. It's like the universe decided to play some evil, cruel joke on me. She never existed. Willow asked me the other day if my memories of Dawnie are fading. I told her no, that I would never be able to forget anything about her. But it was a lie. I don't know if she could tell or not, but it was the biggest fib of all time. Because my memories of her are fading. It is getting harder to picture her in my mind's eye every minute that's passed since she was buried. And no matter how much I tell myself I'll never forget her, I can feel her slipping through my fingers Like trying to hold water in cupped hands. It just won't stay, no matter how hard you try.

As is, I can barely remember the way she smelled. Like obnoxiously sweet cotton candy flavored body spray and something else. Something just Dawn smelled like. I'm not sure. But I haven't smelt candy flavored spray since she died. What would happen if I did? Maybe nothing, but maybe I'd lose it and fall to the ground, damning the Powers That Be or whoever, for taking away the only part of me that I had left, the only thing that kept me human.

Finally, Giles finishes his sentence, "However, we still need all the information we can gather on her for future reference." Of course. Everything is for 'future reference.' What he's not saying instead of the word reference, is generations. He doesn't want me to get that he's worried about other people. I don't know why. He's allowed to worry about whatever he wants but I guess the implication would be that I'd be dead on top of it. I scrunch my eyebrows at the thought.

Why die? It's not like Dawn will be in heaven. Mom is, I bet. I could see her up there, all ethereal with a harp. All of her hair back where it's supposed to be, the way she liked it, but I bet even as happy as she is there that she misses her Pumpkin Belly just as much as I do.

I don't bother replying to Giles. What is there to say? The only thing I could do would be to acknowledge that I won't live forever. That sooner or later some other innocent girl will get every chance and hope she had for life ripped away from her, too? There's always too much potential to justify it. At least to me. She could grow up to be anything still. Hell she could become the president. Or not.

Grimacing, I watch as the mile markers between Sunnydale and Los Angeles get closer. Nearly there. Home to the big city. Where it's easy to get lost and even easier to get killed. What a cheerful way of looking at it. We pull up into the city, well kind of anyway. I can see the city at least. We exit and stay on the side road until we hit some tiny street with no name even on the sign marking it. Great. If I ever get lost I can just go find… nowhere.

We drive down the nameless street for at least two miles, not even stopping when the pavement finally ceases and gives way to desert. I don't know where we're meeting his 'contact.' Eventually, we turn left, there has to be something marking the spot, but whatever it is, I can't find it. Finally, we pull up to some old, run down looking shack in the middle of nothing. He stops the car and says softly, "We're here," before turning off the engine and getting out.

Wherever here is.  
~BtVS~

It hasn't even been twenty minutes since they left, but I can already feel the worry lancing my tummy. I don't know why he wanted to take her with him, but I do know that I've been aching for a break. And now that the break is here, the only thing I want is her to come back.

I can feel Tara staring at me. She came back the day they let Buffy out of the hospital. Since she's been back though, she's been, I don't know…kind of distant. Like she's holding me at arm's length. She never did before, but each time she looks at me I can tell it's not the same. Something changed her at her aunts. Something I don't know if I can even touch. Something that keeps sending us spiraling into pointless fights. There has to be a reason.

I tried asking about it, the trip I mean. How was it? Did you do anything fun? Meet anyone new? Try out any new conjures? Most of her answers were monosyllabic. Not that she's usually full of the chattering, but, before she used to talk, at least when it was just us. Now nothing fills the silence between us. She's pulling away from me, from the Scoobs, even from magic it seems.

The magic is really what stings the most. She still says 'I love you's and cuddles and well, other things, but when we first started talking I was just looking for something in me that was calling out to something in her. The magic. And now she's…turning her back on it. Growing out of it. What else can someone grow out of?

Being gay. I squeeze my eyes shut at the thought. She wouldn't just…do that. She couldn't. Could she? Her eyes are still drilling into me. I put up blocks so she can't just listen in on my thoughts. Never had to do that before, but I guess there's a first time for everything. I pull my attention from the computer screen in front of me.

"What's up?" The question came out quieter than I intended. Timid and slightly pleading.

She looks confused, asking, "Huh?"

My eyebrows scrunch together and I start off, "Well, with the staring and just sitting and," My hands start waving in front of me, making some vague motion to mean something but I don't really know what.

I wait a beat. She doesn't answer, instead just stares down at the table. Finally I just say, "Something's different." Her gaze jerks up to my face. "Between us, something's changed."

She looks confused, "W-what? Nothing's changed."

I don't want to fight, so I say as quietly as I can, "Except that it has." I'm not even looking at her when I say this, instead mimicking her behavior and staring at the table too. "Everything feels different."

When I look up to meet her gaze, she looks away instantly. "I don't know what to tell you, nothing's changed."

I squeeze my eyes shut and bite out, "Fine." Standing up I head to the kitchen, leaving my laptop open on the table, research temporarily forgotten. I don't want to argue. Or fight. And I'm not going to do either. Shuffling through the doors, I find a big flat pan and get out cheese and tortillas. No arguing. Just quesadillas.

I open the 'junk drawer'. Joyce was always really big on organizing everything in her kitchen, and everything that didn't have a set place did have a place in the junk drawer. I pull out an old California road map. I wonder where they are?

Dropping two tortillas on the warm surface, I sprinkle cheese all over them and start tracing the route again with my eyes. I wasn't okay with him taking her along on some goose chase out to the middle of the desert. I'm still not okay with it.

It'll be good for her, my foot.

The cheese starts to sizzle as it comes into contact with the heat and forms to the pan. I flip it over and look up to see Tara watching me from the doorway. Leaning on the frame in a way that isn't at all Tara-like. Her eyes are guarded.

And drilling. Again. I refuse to meet her gaze, instead, staring hard at the food. Don't look up. I stand there for as long as I can stand it before burnt tortilla fills the air. I finally pull the burnt quesadilla out of the pan. I don't know why, but I have this feeling that looking up is the quickest way to start a conversation I'm not going to like much.

I should start talking first instead; distract her from whatever gloomy thing she wants to talk about. A quick glance down at the map on the counter and I've got it. "We should try to see where they are." All Giles told me was that they're heading to the out skirts of LA. He didn't say which outskirts either.

She steps into the kitchen, looking confused for a second before asking, "Why?"

I shrug idly. "Well, ya know, see where they're going?" I make my voice come out hopeful at the end of the sentence. She's still looking at me and I can see fear flicker in her gaze. "C'mon," I plead, "Aren't you just a little bit curious?"

She shakes her head no. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. She never wants to do any casting. Finally, I repeat her question. "Why?"

Her voice comes out soft but I can hear the steel lacing her tone. "Because we don't need to Will. You know it and I know it. It's not necessary. She's with Giles. He'll take care of her, that's what Watchers do."

I don't stop the eye roll this time. "All Watchers do is watch." My tone comes out harsher than I intended, so I add softly, "And teach of course."

She nods. "Exactly. She's fine where she is."

A pout forms on my lips. I mutter, "Fine." And drop it. Everything is just fine.

She starts tapping her fingers on the counter, filling the silence between us with uneven beats instead of soft words. Beats and the acrid smell of burnt food. Great. "Look, I didn't mean to…" She trails off, searching for the words, "To shoot down your idea. I just wanted to ask…where's Spike?"

Huh? I can hear the confusion in my voice as I ask, "What do you mean?"

She looks away just as I finally allow eye contact. "Well, I mean, I haven't seen him since I got back. Like at all."

Wait, where is he? I think back, trying to remember the last time I saw him. Long before Dawn's funeral. It's been what, three weeks since then and at least a week before that. Finally, I let out a sigh to get her attention and begrudgingly say, "I don't really know. I haven't seen him since before you left to go to your aunts."

At the mention of her spontaneous vacation, I see the guarded look flash on her face again. I have to do something to fix this. Whatever this is that's messing us up. But for now, the subject is taboo, unless I'm lookin' for a fight. Why can't things just go back to how they were before that stupid trip?

My face lights up, "Oh, I know! We could do a locater spell on Spike. Ya know, find out where he is." I make my voice sound enthusiastic and rearing to go.

Disappointment clouds her face. "Another spell, Will?"

Another… What? All that comes out is, "Huh?" After a second my brain catches up to the conversation. "But I haven't done any spells, Tar. I was just suggesting them." She looks ashamed for calling me out on something that I didn't do but it doesn't last long. My tone is icy. "Besides which, we used to do spells all the time just for practice."

I'm trying to defend my point of view on a subject that I thought we were on the same page about. She purses her lips, "That's true but…" She bites her bottom lip and looks away. "But you can't just use magic to solve everything, Will."

What? This isn't everything. It's just…people whom we don't know where they are. That's what magic should be used on. "Solve everything? I haven't used it to solve anything. I'm just trying to get back to practicing regularly with you now that you're you again."

"Practicing regularly?" Her tone is just as chilly as mine. "There's a difference between practicing regularly and just doing it to do it."

How can she say this? I don't get it. Before she was brain sucked we practiced all the time, every good intentioned spell we could get our hands on. And now it's bad? "Yeah and there's a difference between never practicing and practicing once in a while and we haven't even done the once in a while since you got better."

What is this? Some kind of … fad to her? Like Lisa Frank stickers? "What? You just outgrew practicing at all?" I don't stop and think before the question pops out of my mouth. And I don't care if it makes sense to her or not.

She looks away and I see water well up in her eyes. "I just…" Her voice trails off. She clears her throat and continues, "I just think we should slow down some." I can see doubt in her eyes when she looks at me.

I know my voice is coming out more upset than I want it to be, but I can't help it. "This isn't about slowing down. This is about stopping." I toss the burnt food into the trash, but the smell still lingers in the air. Not heavy, just there.

Her eyes flash and I know I just hit the nail on the head. "That's what this is. You want to stop practicing magic. Completely."

She starts shaking her head before I even finish the word completely. "It's not that."

But I'm not listening. Instead, I'm just angry. Magic is the thing that I contribute to the group. It's my way of helping keep the forces of darkness at bay and she's trying to tell me that … that what? That she wants me, us, to stop? Or just her? "It is that. I saw the way you just looked at me, Tar. I'm not blind."

She's still shaking her head. All she does is whisper again, "It's not that."

I can feel a grimace forming on my face. "Then what is it?"

She looks away before saying, "I just think we should slow down. Both of our powers are growing so fast, too fast at the rate we were just… we need to get a handle on it."

I want to tell her that I have a handle on it. But this niggling doubt under my skin is telling me that she's right. That we need to slow down. But it's just one spell. My jaw sets and I say as calmly as possible, "Look, we can work on that later. After this one. Just one spell, let's find out where Spike is. Please?"

She shakes her head no and lets out a sigh.

Anger boils back up in me. Fine.

I don't need her to do a stupid locater spell anyway. I just thought that maybe we could go back to being us, the way that we were, and that some stupid locater spell would help. Dumb idea Rosenberg.

My eyes water but I blink the tears back. Obviously the old us isn't anything I'm going to get any time soon. I suck in a ragged breath of air. Fine.

~BtVS~

Every surface in her house is covered in things. Tiny things, big things, living and dead things. A smell is in the air that's like dust and attic mixed with old lady and herbs. And animals. Can't forget those. Or their poop. As I'm looking at it, a large ugly bird lets it fly.

Ew. This entire house is covered in a fine layer of grit. Like the lady hasn't ever heard of Clorox wipes or something. I reach down, touching a tiny figurine gently. "Don't." My attention is instantly ripped from the carving.

The voice is quavering but I can hear a level of steel hidden somewhere. Probably under the wrinkles. "Huh?" Gee that sounds intelligent. Not.

Just a second ago I was happily being ignored by Pocahontas. Well, her grandma at least. I glance back at the tiny piece I was touching and it connects. Not for my hands. I sound sheepish as I mumble, "Sorry." My eyes go to the ground, reprimanded with only a word. This woman coulda taught Mom a thing or two about intimidation stares.

Her real name is Johanna. Giles introduced her before they started talking non-stop. She's not from here SoCal, I mean. Her accent is heavy, thick and slow. I'm not sure what she is or if she's really even human. I'm guessing not, but I could be wrong. Her skin looks scaly, like a lizard's. And there's something off about her eyes. Like they look at you without ever seeing.

I sit down on the makeshift couch. Well, couch or bed. I'm not sure which and it doesn't matter either way.

As I watch, she walks around the tiny kitchen, puttering and talking, making tea with … scones? I make a face and hear Giles clear his throat. He introduced me to Johanna as his 'charge'. I roll my eyes at the thought. I haven't been his or anyone else's charge for a while now. Not since high school at the very least.

Except maybe Willow's.

I didn't want to drag her into this mess, didn't want Tara in it either. And now they both live with me. I went from living with two other women to living with two other women. Only they're not the same other women. Tara's great to have around, but she's so quiet lately. It seems like the only time I ever hear her speak is when her and Will fight.

I always had this romanticized idea about gay relationships. Like maybe because you were both the same gender you'd fight less. I don't know if they always fought, or if this is just a recent thing, something to do with the move or Dawnie or, I don't know. I try not to listen as best I can, but it's kind of hard. Slayer hearing makes roommates kind of disturbing. You know everything about them, whether you want to know it or not.

It was fine with Mom and Dawn, I've lived with them for years. Or thought I had I guess. But either way I was used to them.

With Will and Tara it's different. I feel like they're both trying to fill the roll of Mom in their own way. Will is constantly taking care of me. Stessing over me. Which is something I keep telling her to quit doing but she won't listen. And Tara… She's been off. Different since her trip. I'm not sure what it is but it's easy to see the stress it's putting on both of them.

My eyes start scanning a bookshelf sitting to my right. All of the books look old, older than Johanna's grandmother to say the least.

Books on religion are what mostly fill her shelves. Religion, myths, and… my forehead crinkles in confusion. Something called the ghost roads.

Ghosts like… dead people ghosts? Like spirits? Souls?

Like Dawn?

I reach out to touch the book, running my finger down its spine. Little bumps texture up and down it. My index finger hooks on the top of the spine, grabbing a hold of it lightly and I start to pull it out of the shelf, making a new line of dust free wood.

"Buffy."

I turn around half way, twisting my upper body while keeping my feet and knees firmly on the ground. Giles is standing behind me holding a book. It looks older than any of the other books on the shelf. So it must be about Glory.

I smear a deprecating smile on, "Ready to jet?"

He nods and I stand, leaving the book a few inches in front of all the others but blocking it from sight with my body. "What were you looking at, there?" He gestures to the moved volume and tries to move slightly to the right to see around me to the title.

I glance back at it and instantly feel a pang of guilt. Johanna told me not to touch things. "Uhm, nothing." I lie and push it back in its spot.

He knows I'm lying. I can see it in his face. His eyes flicker down to read the books jacket and I move to the right, keeping me between him and it. "Can we just, go?" I try to make myself sound impatient. Like I just want to get the hell out of here. Which I really do, so it's not that much of a stretch. But I don't want to get out as badly as I want to know.

He nods but his lips purse and he says, "I'd like for you to speak with Johanna for a moment. I'm going to use the restroom." And with that declaration, he leaves the room.

Great. Thanks for just leaving me here. Johanna is sitting at an old wooden table, sipping on a mug of what's probably tea. She pushes out the chair in front of her with her feet and nods to it, "Have a seat."

Her hair is all gray and tangled, like a nest on her head,. It's pulled back from her face in one long braid down her back. It's not just the wrinkles that show her age, I realize, as her eyes make contact with mine. It's in her eyes. Just like every other set of eyes I've ever seen that had to grow up too fast.

I drop myself down into it. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be talking to this woman about. I tent my fingers up. And back down. Up. And back down.

After a second she says, "You aren't doing very well, are you?"

What? I'm doing fine. I set my jaw and say, "I'm managing."

She makes a hrmmph noise that sounds disbelieving. "I am." I sound defensive. Too tightly wound.

She sips her tea and after a moment sets the mug down. "It is harder than any realize, to lose someone so close."

Anger flashes in my eyes. "Yeah, well we weren't close." Tears fill my vision as I realize exactly how true what I just spat out at her is. We weren't close. We weren't nice to each other, more like terrors to survive daily. At least when we were little.

She looks at me disapprovingly. "I think you are lying."

I shrug. That's life.

Her fingers tap for a minute on the table next to her mug. "You cannot see it, but I can. There is great pain in you, loss, death. But it won't last forever. Eventually, even Gods tire of their playthings."

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Did she just threaten me?

A door behind me opens and Giles steps out. "Ready?" He asks, drying his hands on his jeans. Guess she doesn't believe in hand towels either.

I nod. "As I'll ever be." And stand up. My chair scrapes along the ground and I see Johanna grasp the table in pain at the noise. Definitely not human.

As I load into the car, I take one last look at the shack of a house. It's completely weather-beaten, covered in more dust than all the vamps I've slayed put together. But it still looks homey. I drop my sunglasses off the top of my head and over my eyes.

Giles starts the car and pulls into reverse, turning us in the right direction to make it back to the highway. After a couple minutes in the desert I ask, "Giles, what's a ghost road?"

He turns to face me sharply. "Why?"

My answer comes out hesitant, "I'm just wondering. I saw a book, at Johanna's house I mean. And I-"

He cuts me off. "I really don't know if the ghost roads are something you need to be erm, looking into just now."

I sound petulant but I say it anyway, "Why not?"

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. His tone is exhausted, "I just don't think that's the best course of action right now. What you need is to stay safe and sound and recover from this loss."

I try not to let my confusion show. What the hell I he talking about? Recover from my loss? Like that'll ever happen. And how would the ghost roads prevent it?

That's fine. He doesn't wanna tell me, he doesn't have to. I'll just ask Will.

I nod my agreement and say softly, "Alright." He doesn't say another word the rest of the way home.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to Tainted for beta-ing, also please note that my last authors note was incorrect, the ghost roads are a creation of both Christopher Golden and Nancy Holder. Enjoy :-)

The globe in front of me floats in the air, spinning slowly. I sprinkle a mixture of herbs over it. "Show me," I say, only it comes out definitely not in English.

The herbs cascade down the smooth surface, moving together towards one single point. My eyebrows scrunch at the location. What's he doing in South Africa? I let out a huff of air and bring my hands down to my knees. The globe follows them, slowly descending until its resting on the ground. The second my hands make contact with my knees again, the globe drops, no longer in my control, and rolls off the area rug. Herbs scatter everywhere and I try to wipe them up into a small pile with my hands.

I can hear Tara downstairs moving around in the kitchen. I don't know what she's doing, or making I guess. But whatever it is, it's away from me. Tears well in my eyes and I blink them back. I'm not going to cry over this. It's stupid. So what if she doesn't want to do spells anymore. That shouldn't matter. Not if we're as strong as I thought we were. Thought being the important word there. I thought we were strong. Strong enough to withstand anything. But I thought wrong. I can see that now.

The tears manage to squeeze their way out despite my swiping. I just want to go back to us, the way that we were. Why can't we do that?

I know that people change, but I thought…I thought we wouldn't. That we'd always be so wrapped up in fighting the good fight that quitting magic would never become an issue to begin with. I thought that Tara would always want to practice with me. But now she doesn't.

I know she's right, that we need to slow down. And I can slow down, but not when there are things that need to be done. Things that are more important than either of us. Things like Buffy and Dawn and where the frilly heck Spike is.

Plopping down on the edge of 'our' bed in 'our' room, I feel my shoulders sag and defeat pulls at my heart. I'm not even sure how to talk about this. Or if it's something I can do. Would Buffy understand? Get where I'm coming from? In a way, I feel like a teenage boy complaining about suddenly being deprived sex. Or like a five year old petulantly stomping her foot.

But I'm not either of those. This is a reasonable complaint. This was ours, something that's always been ours, mine and Tar's. And now she's abandoning it, like a child. I know she's not a child, but it feels like she's abandoning me, like I'm a child. I roll me eyes through the tears.

Outside, a car door slams shut and I press the heels of my palms into my eyes. Stop crying. Stop it now. Buffy will know and she'll want to know why and I don't know if I can even talk about this without feeling like an idiot.

I wait to hear her bouncing up the front porch, wait for any noise besides the car door shutting, but nothing comes besides the soft clinking noise from the kitchen.

Finally, a creaking noise echo's up the stairs and down the hall. The front door opening. I squeeze out the rest of the tears the best I can and wipe them away one last time before standing up. I straighten my shirt and start for the bedroom door. A knock stops me two feet from it.

"Will?" Buffy's voice floats softly through her old door. It feels so odd, to be standing here in her old room, while she knocks on the outside. I reach out and open the door to see her face. She looks…. Like Buffy. The real Buffy. Not this shell of a Buffy that's been wandering around her house for the last three weeks. She has a spark in her eye I haven't seen since before the final battle with Glory.

She stands on the threshold, teetering back and forth between her left and right foot. Her eyes are downcast, looking at my feet. Finally, her eyes meet mine, "Can I come in?"

I don't even think, just nod in response. It's still her room in my mind. I still feel like Tar and I are just, I don't know, staying the night for weeks on end. She walks in and lets the door shut behind her.

I go and sit back down on the bed, and she follows me, doing the same, only sitting with one leg under her instead of cross-legged like me. Silence stretches and she starts pulling at loose strings on the bedspread. Finally, I ask, "What's up?"

She looks at me then, her eyes searching mine. "I need your help, but you can't tell Giles."

The addendum at the end of her sentence gives me pause, but not enough to not agree immediately. "O-kaay." I drag the last syllable out.

She turns more to face me, making sure our eyes meet and that she has my full attention. "Okay, so Giles took me out to this place in the desert…" I start to ask where and she waves a hand, cutting me off. "And before you ask, I don't know where. Some place with no street, none the less a street sign."

For the first time her spark is back. This urge to learn something, to solve something. To be Buffy again. I can feel a small smile of triumph tugging at my lips but I bite it back. At least something is starting to fix itself.

She keeps going. "So anyway, we get out there and there's this woman, but I don't really think she's human, and she had all these books, well, one of them is about something called ghost roads…" She pauses for a second to catch her breath. Her eyes break contact for the first time and she looks slightly abashed at herself for even coming to me with this. "I tried asking Giles, but he wouldn't tell me anything."

My brow wrinkles. Ghost roads. That sounds vaguely familiar, but only vaguely. I wait a beat for her to continue, and when she doesn't, I ask, "So, what do you need me for?"

She gives me a big 'duh' look and says matter-of-factly, "I need you to help me learn about these ghost road thingies. What if… what if Dawn is there?"

I can see the tears welling up in her eyes. What? Dawn? Huh?

And then it hits me. This isn't Buffy getting better. I was stupid to even think to see it as that, or to think it may even be a possibility. That gleam in her eye isn't the 'Buffy getting back into the swing of things' gleam, but the…the 'she needs help' gleam. But maybe…maybe it was real for a minute. Maybe my best friend was coming back?

Maybe this could help get her back?

I squeeze my eyes shut. That last thought is the only reasoning I need to do to convince myself to help her figure this out. Even just the possibility of getting her back is worth helping. I nod. Clearing my throat, I manage to croak out, "Okay, I'll help you."

She smiles so huge it lights up the room. "Thank you." The smile fades some and she leans in, wrapping her arms around me. We haven't hugged in ages and I find myself falling into her arms. Letting myself go for the first time in a long time. I can feel her breath, soft and warm against my ear, tickling slightly as she whispers, "Thank you, Willow." And then her lips graze against my cheek, leaving a soft kiss there and I keep a tight hold on her.

I need this. I need a hug, a huge hug from my best friend. She seems to need it too, because she's not pulling away from me. My head rests on her shoulder and the tears start back up. Her shirt starts collecting moisture and the second it finally comes in contact with her skin I can tell because she jerks away for a second, just one brief second to see what's causing the wetness. She tilts my head up and our eyes meet.

She breaks the contact and I feel her finger under my chin, lifting my gaze to meet her own, even if mine is blurry and out of focus. And before my very eyes, her face crumples. It goes from self depreciating to comforting. In an instant she's my Buffy. I throw myself back in her arms and she starts rubbing my back in small circles, comforting me and waiting until I'm calm enough to tell her what's wrong. Her breath starts tickling over my ear again and this time little shushing noises are all I hear.

I hiccup out another sob. This is completely irrational. I should be happy, happy to have Buffy back here with me, happy that she has a goal, even if it is one that holds on to Dawn more than it lets her go.

Eventually, the tears stop. Eventually, I can breathe again. And I wait for her to let me go. But it doesn't come, instead her arms tighten around me, pulling me close to her again.

We haven't hugged since…since forever. Since I held her after Dawnies funeral. I want to tell her everything that's happened in the past five hours since she left, but nothing comes out. Timidly, I hear her ask, "What's wrong?"

The tears don't come back again, something for which I'm eternally grateful for, and I manage to whisper out huskily, "Tar and I had an argument."

She finally pulls back and this time her arms drop from around me. "Over what?"

I squeeze my eyes shut and make myself focus on not sounding choked up. "Nothing, it was stupid, it's just magic."

Her voice sounds so small as she squeaks out, "Oh."

And then I spill my guts. Like I've been needing to. "It's just, we used to, you know, practice spells together. We did all different kinds, everything that was good intentioned that we could find and now it's like… like ever since she got back from her aunts, it's like she wants to stop doing magic completely. I don't know what to do. I mean, we've always done this, so should I take it as…as a rejection of something that's purely us, or should I take it as her growing out of a mutual hobby, or…" Confusion clouds my tone.

She nods and for a second I think she looks like Yoda, all zen master and all-knowing, like no problem is insurmountable for her. Like Buffy.

She hesitates for a second and asks, "Well, is she uh, would she get upset if you helped me with this ghost road thing? I mean, I don't want you guys to have a fight because I need help researching or whatever…" She trails off, leaving the question for me to wonder at.

I shake my head no. I don't know for sure that it won't, but if this is something that could help her recover…no, not recover. Cope. If this is something that could help her cope, then I'll do it in a heartbeat. I'll just have to figure out how to keep Tara from getting upset over it. But she shouldn't really, I mean, it's just research, no magic involved.

A tiny niggling little voice in the back of my mind squeaks out, 'not yet'. And I squash the indecision.

~BtVS~

I feel so selfish asking her this, begging for her help. Especially at a time like this. But I need it. And I need it from her.

No one else will understand. I just hope Tara doesn't mind too much, that she'll understand that I need to know.

Something happened to Dawn's soul when she jumped through that portal, if she had one I mean. If she did, it had to go somewhere, it couldn't just evaporate into thin air. It wouldn't.

Will's hand still grasps mine like a lifeline. We haven't moved since she told me about Tara's lack of magicness now. I'm not really sure what to say. But I guess this answers my question of, if this has been going on the whole time, or if it's a new development. Definitely in the new category.

Instead of dropping her hand, I bring her along with me as I stand. But I can feel her pull back, her reluctance to go down stairs and possibly face another argument etched into her face. I tug again but she doesn't budge. I search her face, looking for what she needs to hear to get her moving. Finally, it comes to me. "C'mon, I won't leave you alone, I promise."

Slowly, we walk down the hallway towards my room. Mom's old room. I need a change of scenery big time, being in my old room that isn't really my room anymore…it's just messing with my head. It smells like me still, but now it smells like Willow too. And the mixture of the two smells is making my head swim in new and interesting ways.

Butterfly like ways. But that's not why we're going to my room. I need to get out of there, to some place that's uniquely just me and Mom… just me and Will. Some place where Tara doesn't live too.

Selfish, I know. But I want my best friend all to myself. I'm not really sure how to cope with her having another best friend who she's also doing the horizontal tango with. Why wasn't our friendship enough to turn into that?

I've thought about it sometimes, but not very often and definitely not for very long. Because it's not appropriate. They're together, stupid.

I lead Will over to my bed and sit down, dragging her to sit with me.

With one look over at the door, she shuts it without a word. For a second I wait to see her, 'look Ma no hands,' expression at doing something with magic but it instantly deflates, leaving her with a broken expression on her face.

It's because of the door, I'm sure of that. I just don't get why. "Have you tried talking to her about it?"

Stupid question, I should know. Especially since I've heard them arguing nearly every night since I got out of the hospital. She nods mutely and lets out an exasperated huff of air. "It's just that every time I bring it up we fight. I don't know what's wrong with her. Any time I try to say that something feels different she wigs out, and she keeps drilling into me, with her eyes I mean not uh, well you know, but with her eyes. It's like she wants me to stop doing magic completely. But I can't stop. I won't. Magic is what I … it's how I help fight evil. What else can I do?"

Tears well back up in her eyes and before I can stop myself my thumb is up on her cheek, brushing them away before they can even start to fall. I'm not sure what to say. I know exactly what she's talking about. I've seen it often enough in the past week none the less the last two. Tara has changed. Even I can feel it.

I'm not sure what it is, but something inside of her is different. More hesitant to do anything and everything to save the world. I tried not to notice it when she first came back, at least that's what I tell myself. Really, I was so wrapped up in mourning Dawnie that I didn't notice anything. I didn't even notice that Will needed me. How could I be so selfish?

My hand moves down to grab hers, making small circles on her palm with my thumb. "I'm not sure," I finally tell her.

Because I'm not. I don't know Tara very well if I'm honest with myself. No one does except Willow. She was always the odd one out in the group, the one who had just joined and didn't fit perfectly just yet. But she would've, I think. Before. She would've, if she hadn't gone away.

Maybe nothing about her actually changed. Maybe it's just that we realized she couldn't be counted on in a pinch. That when push comes to shove, she wouldn't do either if it suited her. Like Anya when she first became human, Tara ran when we all needed her the most. When one of our own, one of our most protected, died.

But I don't say any of this. That's not what Will needs to hear right now. Right now, she needs me to tell her…what? That Tara quitting magic doesn't change them? But it does. It changes everything about them. That was always their glue in my eyes. And to have Tara just…quit?

Eventually, I do the only thing I think is right, and just pull her into my arms, letting her cry.

The noises from down stairs stopped a long time ago, but I've been pretending I didn't know Tara is standing outside my door. Listening to her girlfriend, my best friend, cry into my shoulder. For a second, some small part of me feels triumph over being the person Willow turned to. She hasn't turned to me for help in a long, long time and I'm glad that this time she did.

Before guilt floods me. I'm not okay with being at all happy with this situation, even if she did choose me.

I lean close to her ear, whispering, "Just so you know, we're not alone." I don't say any more than that, simply let her figure out the rest on her own.

As soon as the words leave my lips, she stiffens and pulls back. Roughly, she clears her throat and says, "Will you get me my computer? And I'll get started on that research. She mouths, "Later," at me and I nod. We'll pick this back up once we're alone again.

I agree out loud, "Yeah sure, where is it?"

Tara moves away from the door and down the hall, quickly walking down the steps I'm sure as quietly as she can. I'm not angry with her. Well, I am, but not at her so much as angry with her for hurting Will. For making Willow cry.

Will looks sheepish and says softly, "I left it downstairs in the dining room."

I smile weakly at her, "It's cool, I'll go get it." And head towards the door.

She grabs my hand from behind, stopping me dead in my tracks. "I just… I just wanted to say…Thank you." She leans in and gives me a tight hug. Her cheek brushes against mine in a way that's more intimate than a kiss, holding it there, and when she pulls away her face is flushed. I smile, I don't want to but I can't help myself, Will always looks so adorable when she's embarrassed.

I nod. "You don't have to thank me. You'd do the same. Only probably faster." I smile self-depreciatively and walk out of the room and down the stairs.

My cheek is still tingling where she touched me. But she didn't kiss me. She could have, but she didn't. I try not to think about it, not to feel the balloon deflate inside my chest.

I resist the urge to bring my fingers up to touch the spot, but I feel like it's still so visible I should have a neon sign pointing over my head. When I round the corner into the dining room, my first sight is Tara sitting alone, not doing anything, just sitting and looking way pensive.

As my feet connect with the wood floor, she turns to face me. Her eyes start drilling into me too and … what the heck? I shrug off the look she's sending my way. Like shooting daggers.

"I just uhm-came to get Will's computer for her," I mumble out. I don't want to look at her. Don't want her to know… to know that. That what? That Will didn't kiss me on the cheek? That's silly. This is my house. I don't need to explain myself. Not that her not kissing me is something I did, but her actions or uhm, lack of actions, aren't something I should have to explain either.

I can feel some confidence slip into my short trek over to the laptop as I unplug it and bring it and the charger back out of the room and up the stairs.

Tara didn't say a word to me. Just glared angrily. Maybe not angrily, more, sullenly.

I'm sure she's just as upset about their fight as Will is, maybe even more. But she has no one here to vent to, no one to turn to besides Will. But she can't this time. Maybe that's why with the daggers?

I shrug off the thoughts. I don't know, and I don't really care. Right now my main priority is finding out more about these roads and helping Will. I still don't know exactly how I'm going to help her, but … I let out a sigh.

Why do I get the feeling I'm going to be mediating things between the two of them?

~BtVS~

The door to Buffy's room creaks open and I let out a small breath of relief at the sight of her. Thank goddess. I thought it was going to be Tara. But instead, Buffy lets herself in, shutting the door softly behind her. It clicks closed and she sets my laptop down on the bed in front of me. I know my face must still look like a wreck but I'm grateful she doesn't try to pull a Cordy on me and fix my makeup while I'm still upset.

"How'd it go?" I ask tentatively. Is Tar still mad at me? Does she know I did the locator spell on Spike? If so, did she say anything to Buffy about it?

But Buff just shrugs, letting her shoulders fall back down on her sentence. "It went, uh, well, I guess." She searches my face with her eyes, looking for something but I'm not sure what. Finally she says, "She didn't really say anything."

I bite my bottom lip, fighting back the urge to jump down the stairs and start another fight with Tara. Buffy doesn't deserve the silent treatment, no matter what's going on between me and her. Instead, I nod and stay seated where I am.

Opening my computer, I wait patiently for it to load. My fingers hover over the keyboard, wanting to spring into action. I can feel Buffy's eyes on me. Staring at me.

Finally, I look up to face her and she looks away, clears her throat, and says, "I'm sorry I haven't been … there for you, Will." Her eyes connect with mine and I see all the words written there that she's not saying. That this isn't just for the last two weeks, but for the last two years. Since college started. Since Riley and since Oz left. Since before Tara and I started dating. But under it all I can see longing. I'm not sure what she's longing for, if it's for me, or for how we used to be, if it's a longing to make things right or to fix the world by bringing Dawn back. But it's clear and clean cut longing.

I can see pain in her eyes that's drowned out by regret that she's missed so much. Regret that… maybe things could've ended up differently.

I nod. "You don't have anything to be sorry for Buff. We're all trying to deal the best we know how, I get that."

She lowers her eyes and nods just a little, agreeing. I'm glad she didn't try to apologize for the last two years. For everything. It would've been too much at once, too many words and not enough feelings. This way, there are too many emotions and not enough voice.

And that's something that I know how to deal with.

The computer boots up and I open Google, starting off with a generalized search, ghost roads. Great. 281,000 results in .21 seconds. I let out a puff of air. Internet's probably not the way to go.

I start looking through the books I've scanned and put into a database for Giles. After twenty minutes of fruitless searching, I find a definition I think may fit. "This says that the ghost roads are where lost souls go to wander. Between here and their final resting places I mean."

She looks confused for a second but then brightens. "So kind of like, ghost limbo? Not the dancing kind, I mean, but like… purgatory limbo?"

I nod slowly. "Kind of, at least, that's what this book makes it sound like."

I can hear the question before it comes out of her mouth even as it forms on her lips. "So then, Dawnie might be there?"

I bite my bottom lip. "I'm not sure. Maybe." I want to tell her no, that she's probably not there, but I can't rule anything out.

If only I could do some kind of spell to find out where she is. Where she went to when she died. But there's nothing of hers left here, nothing. No photos, no diaries, not even a bed.

I don't want to be the one to bring this up, but I do anyway. "What if, uhm, what if she isn't lost though?"

Buffy's attention is riveted on me with those simple words. "What do you mean?"

She sounds nearly hysterical. Maybe this really shouldn't be brought up at all. "I mean uhm, what if she's ya know, in heaven? Or uh, hell? She wouldn't be on the ghost roads, they wouldn't even know where she would be I don't think. At least not from what I'm understanding."

She nods. I can see the defeat written on her face. She needs Dawn to be there.

I say one last time, "But ya never know. She could be there." And leave it at that. She doesn't need anything more from me.

"Will you…" She swallows hard before continuing. "Will you um, keep looking? Keep researching I mean?" She sounds unsure of herself, like even asking is a huge leap.

I nod. "Of course."

She smiles her thanks and comes to lay down on the bed, curling up to my side and just being there. Almost like she knows that I need that right now. That I need to be touched and have some kind of physical contact. I let a small smile play on my lips, I have nothing to be happy for, nothing at all.

Dawn is still dead, Buffy is still in mourning, Tara and I are still not on good terms. But for some reason, I can't keep the silly grin off my face at having a direction to be aimed towards. Research has always been something I could lose myself in, and this time is no different.

After a while, Buffy's breath evens out as she breathes in and out against my thigh. And I keep going, learning everything I can about the ghost roads, who runs them, and how we can break through to them. Buffy stays asleep against me for a long time, and when she eventually wakes up, she doesn't move, instead cuddling closer to my lap.

A jolt of electricity volts through me and I clamp it down. Lusty feelings are not what's needed now, research only. Not to mention that it's Buffy.

I look down and realize my fingers are playing with her hair while I read and my heart skips a beat.

I'll find her for you Buffy, I promise. We'll find her.


End file.
